Defying Gravity
by kijani
Summary: A few short years after the war, Hermione finds her world torn apart once again. She finds herself back at Hogwarts. Will a few familiar faces be able to lift her spirits? Is there more to everything than meets the eye? Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **For the purposes of my sanity, I always put a little note up here. Been doing that since 2004, so I figured why break the trend? That said, please note I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters therein. I wish I did, but alas, I am not JK Rowling. And on that note, I'd also like to add that most of my pairings are not canon. I'm not a fan of the canon pairings in this fandom. I ALWAYS make a note of my pairings in the fanfiction summary area. If ya don't like it, please kindly hit your browser's 'Back' button and have an awesome day. Now—on with the fic!

–

**Defying Gravity**

_Chapter One: Invitation to the Past_

It had been a few years since Hermione Granger had set foot on the sprawling Hogwarts campus. The last time she'd seen it, it had been practically in ruins, but now, as she stood in front of the large wooden doors that led to the main hall, she felt like a little girl again. It was just as she remembered it from the very first time she'd arrived as a wide-eyed eleven-year-old. She knew from the day the owl arrived that summer that this place and the wonderful people she would meet here would inevitably change her life forever. She just hadn't realized at the time that everything would change quite so much.

"Hermione?" The familiar voice brought an immediate smile to her face. She turned around, craning her neck a bit to look up into the beady eyes of the Hogwarts groundskeeper. She'd never lost contact with Hagrid. Over the last few years, they had exchanged owls regularly. "I didn't think you'd get here until the weekend! Classes don't start until Monday."

Hermione smiled. "I hadn't planned on it," she explained. "But I actually got here a little early because Professor McGonnagal wanted to speak with me before the students arrived. I think most of my things have already-"

"Took them up to the Gryffindor common room m'self," Hagrid told her proudly, poking his chest with a sausage-like index finger. "Everything's all ready for you. Do you need help finding the headmaster's office?"

"I think I remember the way, Hagrid, but thank you," Hermione nodded. "If you want to put some tea on, I can come out to your hut after I speak with her and we can catch up a little bit? It's been ages, hasn't it?"

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. "It has." He agreed. His gaze shifted downward, and he kicked at a small pebble with his boot. With the mass of hair shielding his face, Hermione couldn't make out his expression. "Hermione?" He whispered. "I uh... I saw the _Prophet_. It's a load of codswallop. Really is. But I... I'm sorry about Ron."

Hermione tensed, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She didn't like to think about the _Prophet._ She'd tried not to pay attention to most everything they'd written since Rita Skeeter smeared her name all over its pages in her fourth year. Things had gone downhill after that. Recently, it had only gotten worse. Harry and Ron had taken jobs with the Ministry shortly after the war, working in the auror office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Their job was to round up the remaining death eaters. Even with their beloved dark lord gone, a few still clung desperately to the dying cause. After spending a large chunk of her adolescent life in grave danger, Hermione had accepted a much less stressful position, and fallen into a wonderfully comfortable routine. She spent her days at the Ministry, she still got to spend time with her best friend, and she and Ron had made a habit of eating bad Chinese food and watching corny movies at least one night a week. Everything had been perfect until the rug was pulled out from under it all. Everything had been _perfect_ until the day she learned that neither Harry nor Ron would be coming home again.

"They knew what they were getting into, Hagrid," she replied, a bit more harshly than she meant to. She cringed at the sound of her own voice and turned, forcing another small smile as she met his gaze again. "Ron and Harry always did everything together, you know?" She added, a quiet sadness seeping into her voice. "I couldn't have talked him out of it even if I'd tried. Always so stubborn. Both of them..."

"Yeah," Hagrid whispered. Hermione heard a strange noise behind her, and the giant cleared his throat. Was he crying? He wiped at his face with his sleeve just as Hermione turned to look at him again. "Well, you ought to be going. McGonnagal'll be expecting you. Lots to do." Before she could reply, Hagrid spun about, plodding in the direction of his hut near the edge of the forest. 

Hermione took a deep breath and returned her gaze to the massive wooden doors. Everything looked as it had when she was younger, but there was still a certain trepidation holding her back. It had been so long since she'd walked these halls, and the last time she'd been on the grounds didn't exactly conjure many fond memories in her mind. She made an attempt to shake the nerves away and then took a step forward, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Her movements were almost automatic, and before she knew it, her feet had carried her up several flights of stairs and around a few corners. She'd only been standing in front of the statue that marked the entrance to the headmistress's office when it opened, and a set of stairs appeared beyond it.

McGonnagal looked just as Hermione remembered her. The war had aged her somewhat, of course. She had quite a few more grey hairs, and when Hermione looked at her just right, she could almost see a sadness there, as though the pain was etched into her very features. She beamed when she saw Hermione and promptly stood up from the chair perched behind her over-sized desk.

"Good to see you, Hermione."

"And you, Professor. Everything looks... It all looks very familiar."

"Ah, yes. Well, the restorations took a bit longer than we expected, as I'm sure you are aware. But, everything is now as it should be, as it always was. For the most part." She paused. For a moment, Hermione thought she might be preparing to say something more, but the silence hung in the air.

She cleared her throat. "I saw Hagrid," she offered, trying to sound cheery. "He said he'd already taken my things to my quarters in the common room. Professor, I, I mean, do you really think it wise? It's barely been five years. Technically, I didn't even graduate. I am honored. Truly, I am. But, don't you think there was someone more qualified for the position?"

"Certainly not," the old woman snapped back. She gestured to a Victorian-era armchair across from her desk. "Hermione, we're trying to build morale here. With everything that has happened, we wanted to bring in some familiar faces. Professor Flitwick is still here, and Professor Binns, of course. I finally convinced Professor Trelawny to return last year, and Hagrid never really left, but we have quite a few spots to fill, you see. Longbottom agreed to take over with the herbology classes, and the greenhouses, of course. He arrived yesterday. And Miss Lovegood has been here for the better part of a week."

"Lovegood? _Luna_?" Hermione clarified.

McGonnagal gave a short nod and began to scribble something onto a long piece of parchment. Even as she looked up, her hand continued to move. "I offered Bill Weasley your position, actually." She added. "He's graciously accepted the defense against the dark arts job, but declined any further responsibility when I mentioned that I was considering you for my former position."

Hermione balked at the information. "But Professor, he's ten years my senior! Surely a man with his experience would be more qualified for—" She stopped herself again, biting her bottom lip, and forced a sigh instead of finishing her initial thought. "I know he's had a rough time since Fleur took the girls. I haven't been around too much. Molly cries when she sees me," Hermione whispered. It was perhaps a bit more information than the older woman needed to know. She waited as a thick silence seemed to settle in the air between them.

"In _any_ case," McGonnagal continued, clearing her throat a bit louder than was likely necessary, "I am glad to have quite a few familiar faces back on the grounds. I think it will be wonderful for morale, and I have no doubt in your ability, Miss Granger, to tackle the transfiguration classes _or_ lead Gryffindor. As I recall, you knew your books nearly better than I did when you were a child. You will be _fine_. You wouldn't be here if I didn't think you completely capable of the task at hand. Now," McGonnagal finally dropped her quill, and her head snapped up again. She waved Hermione away and offered her a tight smile. "Go make yourself at home. Dinner will be served at the usual time in the Great Hall. I'm sure you remember?"

"I do."

"Hermione," McGonnagal breathed out. Hermione glanced up, surprised to hear her first name. "I'm sorry about Ron and Harry. I really am." 

The meeting left Hermione with far more questions than she had answers. She was back at Hogwarts, but so was Neville, Luna, and Bill. But why them? To boost morale? The thought almost gave her a headache. Could that be the real reason? Who would want them here, really? Neville, Luna, Bill... All had fought valiantly alongside Hermione, Harry, and Ron. But there had been countless others who had fought. Some had died. Hogwarts had been the boiling point of the whole thing, the bloodiest battle of the war with no doubt the longest list of casualties. How would having several constant reminders of that day boost morale for the newly remodeled school? Perhaps she was looking at it wrong?

Lost in her own thoughts, Hermione rounded a corner. The staircases liked to change places on occasion, and she could hear the stones groaning as the shift began. She didn't exactly relish the thought of waiting for them to change back. Unfortunately, she rounded the corner a bit too fast, and her foot slid out from under her as soon as it hit the stone floor again. She lost her balance, lurching backwards and flailed her arms in a feeble attempt to keep herself from falling to her backside, but gravity was winning the battle, and Hermione cursed, slamming her eyes shut as she went down and prepared herself for the painful sting of defeat.

She didn't recognize the pair of hands that wrapped around her arms, but instead of landing on the ground, Hermione found herself standing once more, her legs still somewhat shaky. She turned, her gaze meeting the familiar bright eyes of Bill Weasley.

For a moment, the man said nothing. Hermione opened her mouth to thank him, but for some reason, words wouldn't come out. She felt horrible. She'd been avoiding Molly and the rest of the family since the incident with Ron and Harry had made the paper. Hell, she'd jumped at the chance to work here when she'd gotten McGonnagal's invitation in part because she didn't want to face the awkwardness of passing her father-in-law in the Ministry atrium every morning. Bill had to know. He was Molly and Arthur's oldest son. Despite battling his own demons with Fleur lately, he had to know. She knew how close Bill was with their parents.

"Bill, I—"

"It's okay, Hermione. Just be more careful, alright?" His smile was genuine, and Hermione felt herself relax a little bit.

"Thanks, Bill."

"Hermione?" She took a deep breath. She knew what was coming next. There was a certain tone in a person's voice when they pitied you. Hermione hated it, but she'd heard it a lot lately. She braced herself. At least Bill knew. Bill had been there through the worst of it, and then she had shut him out. She'd shut all of them out. She wondered how angry he was. She wondered what he was going to say. She waited. Seconds ticked by with nothing but silence, but about the time Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, she felt the hand on her shoulder, and the reassuring squeeze it offered, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Thanks, Bill..." She repeated, her voice a bit softer than before.

–

**Author Note: **Yeah, I know. This one is short, but I had to kind of leave it here for now so that everything else plays out when and where I want it to. Please feel free to review. I will have the new chapter up soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the vagueness of the first chapter. I have my reasons! One of the reviewers in particular caught on to a few things that _don't_ quite add up just yet. Things are going to start making a little bit more sense in this chapter. Thanks for the reviews! Now, on with chapter two!

–

**Defying Gravity**

_Chapter Two: All Over the Papers_

Hagrid's hut was just as Hermione always remembered it, and she still felt drawfed when she sat down at one of the over-sized chairs at his table. She found herself gazing out the window into the empty space that would be full of pumpkins soon. She remembered hiding there once when she, Harry, and Ron were trying to rescue Buckbeak. The urgent whistle of Hagrid's tea-pot brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up just in time to see the giant bringing her a steaming cup of tea. She sipped lazily at it as he took a seat across from her and smiled.

"Thanks, Hagrid," her voice was much softer than she meant it to be. "I'm sorry it took me so long. After I spoke with McGonnagal, I ran into Bill on the way to the stairs. Quite literally." She sighed. "I think a nice cup of tea will do me some good right about now." Hermione took another small sip. There was a bitterness to the taste, but beyond that, Hermione could taste a hint of milk and honey. "It's funny," she forced a dry laugh. "He's the only one who didn't really say anything about what happened, even though I'm certain he has more of a right to be angry than most."

"Why?" Hagrid's voice seemed to echo off of the walls of the tiny hut. "Why would he be mad at you, 'Mione?" Hagrid leaned forward until the tip of his beard nearly dipped itself into his cup of tea. "You know it wasn't your fault, right? No one who really knows you is going to blame you for what happened, and the _Prophet_? Well, hardly anyone who has any sense at all doesn't believe a thing they say anymore, so 'f I were you, I wouldn't worry your pretty little head over—"

Hermione shook her head and sat her cup down. "_No_, Hagrid. The _Prophet's_ right. They may have gotten the story wrong, but they were right about one thing: It _was_ my fault. That was my husband and my best friend, and I may not have killed them myself, but I can certainly see why the finger of blame is pointed at me. The only reason they were at that damn house was because of _me_, Hagrid. _I _sent Ron the damn owl after that little girl showed up with her mother at Werewolf Support Services. The only reason they left their office that day was because _I _sent them away, right into a bloody ambush. Might as well have been the one that killed them!" She could feel tears stinging her eyes, and she gripped her tea cup tightly, hoping it would steady her shaking hands. All it seemed to do was make the shaking more obvious. "I used to see Arthur every day at the Ministry. Molly still cries when she sees me, and I can't help but wonder... I can't help but think if maybe _they_ don't blame me, too?"

Hagrid sat in silence for a moment, a stunned expression on his face. He appeared to be thinking, although Hermione always had trouble discerning what he might do or say. She wasn't sure if it was the sheer size of him or the amount of hair that cloaked most of his facial features, but he was a hard man to read.

"Well that's just foolish," he nodded decisively after a moment. "You couldn't have known, 'Mione. You were just reportin' things, right? Just doing your job. And Harry and Ron, they were just doing theirs. And the _Prophet_? They're not right about a single thing. They just have nothing better to do, is all. They _had_ to make something up. The _Quibbler's _been doing better than them since the war, and they know it. You _know_ Xenophilius Lovegood isn't going to print such trash." Hagrid reached behind him, tossing a side a dusty old throw and a few tattered pieces of parchment. From beneath an old, upturned ink bottle and a small, leather-bound book, he pulled a yellowed copy of the _Quibbler_. He handed it across the table to Hermione. "Figured you'd be needin' to see that at some point, so I saved it for you. Even marked the article." He nodded. "Xenophilius knows the truth, 'Mione. And the article Luna wrote is the _real_ story, and we all know that."

"_Luna_ wrote?" Hermione blinked. It was the second time today she'd been somewhat surprised to hear Luna Lovegood's name.

Hagrid gave another nod. "Sure did. She took a job here, but she says she'll still be working with her old man when she can. It was actually Bill what told us you were going by your maiden name now, though." Hagrid offered her a small smile. "I hope you're not mad? We all knew what 'appened, of course. Was hard not to find out. McGonnagal'll tell you. Bill sat us down. Said you were having a rough time of it. We knew the _Prophet_ was trying to turn your name into a foul word again. Bill said it might make you feel better not to hear it for a while, that you'd started going by your maiden name. No one blames you, really. Molly Weasley's sent a fair share of howlers the _Prophet's_ way. Doesn't like seein' her family's name in the papers like that, I imagine. Bill said it's been a little rough. We just... We wanted you to be able to _breathe_ a little bit."

Hermione hid her face behind her cup of tea for a moment and took a long drink. The honey had settled into the bottom, and she licked her lips as she sat the cup down again, letting out a soft sigh. She absent-mindedly began to smooth over the crinkled edges of the_ Quibbler_ as she met Hagrid's gaze once more. For a long time, she simply let the silence hang between them. It certainly was nice knowing that she didn't really have to say anything. That wasn't the problem, though. The problem was that she wasn't exactly sure what to say, or how to say it. Were they having secret meetings about her? Did she really seem _that_ damaged?

"I really should be going," Hermione announced suddenly. Outside Hagrid's window, where the pumpkins grew in the autumn, Hermione could see the sun starting to sink below the treeline. "I still have to unpack and get everything ready for this week." She flashed him a guilty smile. "But we should really do this again soon? Maybe even make it a regular date? What do you say?"

The large, scruffy man offered a toothy grin and nodded. "Sounds like fun, 'Mione. Want me to walk you back to the castle?"

"No thanks. I know the way alright," she assured him. She grabbed up the issue of the_ Quibbler _that Hagrid had fished out for her and headed for the door. Just as they were inside the castle, the pathway leading back up to the main doors was so familiar that Hermione hardly had to think to get back. Her feet simply carried her where she needed to go, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of the portrait that marked the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

"_Jelly doughnut_," she whispered. The portrait swung open, and Hermione stepped inside, walked silently through the common area, and turned the corner to her quarters. Waiting for her inside the room was a trunk and several suitcases full of her things, and several sets of black robes with the Hogwarts emblem hanging in the closet with a scarf, hat, and mittens set in the Gryffindor colors_. _What caught Hermione's attenion most, though, was the small package on the bed. The box itself was no bigger than a shoebox, and was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. Tucked underneath the knot on top was a small piece of parchment folded down the middle with a note scribbled in barely-legible handwriting on the inside.

Hermione pulled the little piece of parchment free from its prison and scanned over the note inside. '_Before you get angry_,' it read, '_I wasn't in your room. I had Hagrid drop this off, even though I told mom it probably wasn't the best idea right now. I don't want you to be too surprised when you open it up, so I thought I'd give you a warning: It's pictures. Mom found them in Ron's old room at the burrow about a week ago. She insisted on sending them along when I told her you'd taken McGonnagal's old job. They're old. You guys were still in Hogwarts. Harry's in a lot of them, too. -B_.' Hermione took a deep breath and looked over the note again as she tried to decide if she really even wanted to open the box. She hadn't noticed the post-script on the first read-through. She brought the parchment a little closer to her face and squinted her eyes in an effort to make out the tinier writing. '_PS—You aren't alone, just so you know. If you think you might need a buddy for memory lane, you know where to find me. I know what it's like to need a friend._'

She folded the note back up and shoved it into the top drawer of her bedside table. Her gaze immediately shifted to the plainly wrapped box full of painful memories. With a deep breath, she reached two shaky hands forward and began to unwrap it. The lid to the old shoebox underneath was caving in in places, and most of the box itself seemed to be held together with clear packing tape. Hermione reached forward and started to lift the lid, but stopped herself just short of revealing the box's contents. Instead, she placed it atop the night stand and turned her attention towards the_ Quibbler_.

Hagrid had already marked the article that she was interested in. Hermione unfolded the paper and took another deep breath as she stared down at an old picture. Smiling up at her and waving like a fool was a fifteen-year-old Ronald Weasley. To his right was Harry, one arm draped around a widely-grinning Ginny Weasley. On his other side, Hermione saw a much younger version of herself, Luna Lovegood, and an awkward looking Neville Longbottom who seemed to be in conversation with one another until they realized that Hermione was staring down at them. They stopped for a moment to join Ron in his greeting before dashing out of the frame. Hermione turned her attention to the article just below the old photo.

'_That's me,_' the article started, _'when I was younger. This photo of me and my best friends was taken in a not-so-secret secret room at Hogwarts just a few years before the final battle in the war took place. I'm the odd one out in the photo, if you couldn't tell. All my friends were in Gryffindor. Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and of course, if you haven't lived under a rock your entire life, you'll recognize Harry Potter there in the center. These people were my best friends, and for a while, my only friends. They taught me a lot when we were at Hogwarts, and when the final battle came to the castle's front doors, we fought alongside one another. In the photo, we look pretty happy, but what a picture can't tell you, even one that moves, is that when we took this photo, things had already started to go down hill. We spent quite a few days in that not-so-secret room learning to defend ourselves when the Ministry took over Hogwarts and told us we couldn't. We laughed together, we cried together, and we learned what loyalty really meant.'_

_'What the photo also can't tell you is that despite the war that tried to destroy everything, despite the lives that were lost, we all managed to persevere. What this photo can't show you is that after the war, after everything we lost, life still continued on. Ginny Weasley plays for the Holyhead Harpies now. Harry and Ron became Aurors and worked for the same Ministry that we'd seen corrupt by power and greed just a few short years ago. Hermione took a job in Werewolf Support Services, and Neville and I? We're doing our own thing, too. Harry married Ginny, and his best friend Ron gave a toast at their wedding. Ron married Hermione, and Ginny and I were her bridesmaids. The so-called Golden Trio and everyone who knew them were normal people. Normal, happy people who wanted nothing more than to live normal, happy lives.'_

_'I don't usually read the _Prophet_, but I'm sure those of you that do were glued to the pages when the _Prophet_ reported that the infamous Boy-Who-Lived and his best friend had been killed in an ambush outside London. The _Prophet_ claimed to have found out from another auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that Harry and Ron were following a lead given to them by Ron's wife, Hermione. In subsequent weeks, the _Prophet_ went on to smear my friend's name, labeling her everything from a jealous spouse to a traitor to the cause. We here at the _Quibbler_ attempted on several occasions to contact the Editor-in-Chief at the _Prophet_ and urge that they correct their misguided information. They refused. Naturally, when this method failed, my father and Editor-in-Chief of the _Quibbler_, Xenophilius Lovegood, demanded that we print the real story ourselves. Usually, I take a more behind-the-scenes approach to helping my father with the paper, but when he wanted to run the real story, I knew that I wanted to be the one to write it.'_

_'The _Prophet_ has been making a profit off of the personal lives of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger for years now, but has rarely bothered itself with the facts. We at the _Quibbler_ would like to share a few of the facts with you that the _Prophet_ conveniently left out of its version when it was pointing the finger of blame. The _Prophet_ doesn't want you to know that Harry and Ron became aurors for a reason. While the world is a much safer place, there are still those out there who cling to the old ways, and yes, to the teachings of Voldemort. Harry and Ron risked their lives alongside many of us in the war, and then signed on with the Ministry to continue to do so in hopes that we could be a little bit safer every time we went to bed at night. They didn't have to do this, and they knew the risks, but they did it anyway. And you know what? They were good at what they did because they trusted each other. They were loyal friends. What the _Prophet_ doesn't tell you about the woman it wants to label a traitor is that just like Ron and Harry, Hermione was only doing her job. She was only doing what she thought to be right. Hermione was no auror. She worked in Werewolf Support Services, helping victims of werewolf attacks. And just between you, me, and the fence post? Hermione hated that her best friend and her husband were still running off and trying to fight the bad guys, but even though she wasn't running off every day with them, she still did what she could to help. Hermione did send an owl to Ron that day, but the _Prophet_ only shared part of Hermione's letter. The letter was sent after a report was filed—a report, which, if the _Prophet_ had cared to look, is still on file in both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.'_

_'The _Prophet_ wants you to believe that Hermione set her husband and her best friend up. They want you to believe that a woman who spent her teenage years in constant danger fighting alongside her best friends against a man some of you are still afraid of, a woman who had recently married her best friend, would turn around and stab them in the back. The _Prophet_ gave you photos of the crime scene and a badly-lit photo of a half-piece of parchment with an address on it. The _Prophet_ wants to turn Hermione into a villain, and in its quest to do so, accidentally left out a few pieces of information. Like the fact that the criminals involved were apprehended, or the fact that aside from Harry and Ron, one man from the Werewolf Capture Unit also lost his life, and another one is still recovering in St. Mungo's. Or, the fact that there was another half to the piece of parchment that they claim condemns my friend.'_

Hermione paused, her eyes glassed over with unshed tears, and looked down at the second picture the article contained. It was a very familiar piece of parchment. She didn't even need to read what was written on the page, but she looked at it, anyway.

'Ron, Here's the address. I know you and Harry have the report, but something doesn't add up . Please, please owl me when you get back to your office. I'll meet you and Harry up there. I have some news that I really want to share with both of you. I love you. -Hermione'

She looked away for a moment and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She'd never gotten a reply because they'd never made it back to the office. She sat and she sat and she sat, and then she went home and paced until there was a groove in the floor. She tried to tell herself that they were alright. She even tried to prepare herself in case they weren't, but she couldn't have prepared for something like that. Not really. Hermione let out a shaky sigh and glanced back at the _Quibbler_ once more. There was one small paragraph left below the second picture.

'_If you would like to continue to believe the lies spread by the _Prophet_, please do so. The _Quibbler_ has brought you the truth. It has brought you proof. Continue to believe its lies if you wish, and perhaps one day your name will be smeared across its front pages. We are committed to bringing you the truth, and the truth is that Hermione, Ron, and Harry were best friends. They were family. And now their friends, and their family are grieving a great loss...'_

Hermione stopped reading and folded the old paper in half. She'd never seen Luna get quite so fired up about anything, but then again, she'd been surprised to hear that Luna had written the article in the first place. Hagrid was right. The _Quibber_ seemed to have more of the story than the _Prophet_ did. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

With another small sigh, Hermione glanced to the bedside table and picked up the old shoebox, cradling it and the halved _Quibbler_ under her arm, and padded towards the door. There was someone that she needed to go see.

–

**Author's Note:** This one was a bit longer than the first chapter, because hey, that's how I roll. In any case, this chapter was meant to answer certain questions, and raise others. I guess I'll see how many of you catch on when I check out the reviews! Chapter three will be coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: OMG guys I am soooo sorry! I lost access to my account (my password recovery email was my college email and my account was deactivated when I left school. Fun times.) Anyways, I'm BAAACCCCK. Happy New Year to all of you, and to celebrate, here's the update that I promised you months ago…

**Defying Gravity**

_Chapter Three: Memory Lane?_

Hermione had a lot to think about, and while she was sure that the walk from her quarters in the Gryffindor common room to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room would not give her nearly enough time to do all that, she still couldn't help but reflect on the events of the day. Her conversation with Hagrid. The article Luna had written in the _Quibbler_. Bill.

She paused in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, lifted her free hand, and knocked softly. "Bill?" She called through the thick wood. "Bill... It's Hermione. Can I come in for a moment? I need to speak with you. I promise it won't take long. I know it's getting late."

A few short moments later, the door swung open, and Bill stared out into the hallway. Hermione's head tilted to the side, and she flashed him a quick smile. He took a step back and held the door open. "It's not getting late at all. Come in, Hermione."

Hermione padded inside, the old shoe box and the _Quibbler_ tucked tightly under her arm, and let out a soft sigh as she turned to look up at Bill. "I couldn't open it," she said, gesturing to the little box as she dropped it on an old desk. "I couldn't do it, but I… Well, thanks for giving it to me, I guess."

Bill shrugged. "Mom wanted you to have them. She's doing a little better, you know? She thought you might like them, especially since you three spent most of your time at school getting into trouble beyond your years. She just wanted you to have some nice memories to mix in with some of the more unpleasant ones."

"How's Ginny doing?" Hermione asked.

"About as well as I suspect you're doing." Bill frowned. "She's holding together alright, but I can see it in her eyes sometimes. She hasn't really given herself time to grieve. She's mostly just been angry. Especially after that horrible article came out in the _Prophet_. Mom and Ginny went on a crusade. They're gunning to have that guy's jewels in a vice…"

Hermione cleared her throat. "You know, Hagrid told me about what _you_ did," she pointed out, her voice softer than she meant it to be. "About talking to everyone? You didn't have to do that. I could've… I would've said something." She frowned and sank into a chair. "It's just… I feel awful enough as it is after what happened. Your parents must think I'm horrid—''

"My parents don't blame you, Hermione. Neither does Ginny. Neither do I. You're grieving. You're hurt. You know what they think? They're worried about you. That's it. That's all."

Hermione shook her head. On some level, she knew that the demons in her own mind were of her own creation, with help in part from the _Prophet_, of course. She knew that, but still she couldn't help but let herself feel the guilt. She hated passing Arthur in the halls at the Ministry because she still wasn't sure what to say to him. She hated seeing Molly cry. And Ginny? Well, she hadn't really spoken to her sister-in-law since the whole thing had happened. She chewed her bottom lip. It was understandable, of course, that they were all grieving. How hard it must have been for Molly, going through Ron's old things…

She paused, and her gaze shifted towards the old box she'd left on the table when she came inside.

Bill was still standing near the door, but as soon as he realized where her gaze had settled, he swung it closed and crossed the room, taking a seat beside her. Hermione didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until Bill's hand covering hers startled her out of her own thoughts, and she gasped, her lungs burning for much-needed oxygen.

"If you want to open the box, I'm here for you. You know that, right?" He whispered. "But if you don't want to open it, you don't have to. No one will fault you for it."

Hermione shook her head. "I do want to," she assured him. "I do. I just… I'm not really sure what I will see in there."

"That's why I'm here." Bill nodded. "So you don't have to do it alone."

Hermione's fingers danced over the dust-caked lid that stood between her and memory lane, and her fingers shook. She took another deep breath, hesitating a moment longer before slowly peeling the lid away to finally reveal the contents of the box. Inside, there was no rhyme or reason. Nothing but a small, disorganized mountain of old photographs, some facing down, and some staring her right in the face. She glanced to Bill for a moment of reassurance before reaching out to pluck the first photo from the pile.

And then she stared. Harry and Ron were sitting on the Hogwarts Express, side-by-side, and fighting over what appeared to be a stack of chocolate frogs from the trolley. Hermione could barely remember taking the photo their fourth year. The boys paused their spirited debate when they noticed Hermione looking at them, and smiled wide. Hermione noticed a smear of chocolate just below Ron's lip. Her fingertips brushed over the photograph, and she let out a quiet sigh.

Another photo, this one facing down, contained a picture of Harry, Hermione and Ron that she hadn't been expecting to find in the pile. It was an awkward photo of the trio, and the Ron in the photo was blushing, his hand just barely touching young Hermione's as the three of them crowded together for the picture. Hermione blinked when she realized that her eyes were stinging, and wiped furiously at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Did… Did Molly want to keep some of these, maybe?" She asked, her head turning slightly until she was facing Bill. "She can have this one. I should make her a pile. I bet she'd like—''

Bill shook his head. "She's got plenty. These were just the ones she thought you might like to keep, Hermione. What is it?" He leaned to the side and craned his neck in an effort to see what Hermione held in her hands.

"Collin Creevey took it," Hermione explained. "It was fifth year, I think? See that, there? Behind us? When Fred and George left, they left a mess for Umbridge. Professor Flitwick cleaned most of it up as soon as she was gone, but he left that little bit behind. He was so impressed." Hermione smiled at the little memory and then glanced towards the door. She wiped another stray tear from her cheek without even realizing it. "I wonder if it's still there? I know there was so much that got destroyed during the war, but I wonder if it survived?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders again. "I couldn't tell you," he admitted. "I haven't done too much exploring since I got here, really. Maybe we'll see if we can go find it tomorrow?"

Hermione found herself feeling good about the idea of a little bit of adventure after the day she'd had, and nodded to Bill's suggestion. Her gaze shifted again and fell back to the small mountain of photographs that still hadn't been sorted inside the old shoebox. After a moment of contemplation, she picked up another. There was a small note scribbled on the back. All it said was:

'I took this picture of your sister and your "friend." It looks great, doesn't it?'

The pink dress was very familiar. Hermione had purchased it to wear at the Ball during fourth year, when the TriWizard Tournament had come to Hogwarts. She'd attended the ball with Victor Krum, a Bulgarian quidditch sensation who was somewhat taken with her. He wasn't in this picture, though, but Hermione thought that the handwriting on the back was vaguely familiar. She was dancing alongside Ginny, her hair tussled, her dress twirling about. If she thought on it hard enough, she could almost remember what song had been playing in that moment.

Each photo seemed to carry with it another memory that Hermione wasn't even sure she was prepared to wrestle with. She could remember each one as though she had taken the photos herself. In some cases, of course, she had, but there were just as many photos that contained her as there were ones that she had taken. Her fingers continued to shake as she sifted through the box, watery eyes leaking occasionally as she silently mourned the smiling faces in each picture.

Beside her, Bill sat silent, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Hermione knew he was there even though he wasn't commenting. She could feel his presence.

He had been right. Having a friend to help her sort through all of this had been a good idea. When the box sat empty in her lap, Hermione's shoulders sagged and shook with silent sobs. The box was empty, and she hadn't expected to feel its emptiness within herself. The box was full of happy memories and goofy moments in time, but they seemed so few in number now. How quickly had she managed to sort through all of them? They'd had such a wonderful bond, but there were so very few happy memories. No. They'd spent a great deal of their time in school worrying about Voldemort. About what he was doing. About when and where he would strike next.

And now Ron and Harry were gone.

How was it that Voldemort was able to get the last laugh, even from the grave?

The box fell from Hermione's lap, and the photos spilled, billowing out over the old wooden floor. Hermione crashed painfully to her knees in an effort to gather them all up, and watched in horror as several blew right into the crackling fireplace. She counted them. Three memories eaten by the flames. For a moment, she hated herself for being so careless, and then she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, and the tension slowly drained out of her body, and the tears began to fall again, but this time, she did nothing to stop them.

"It's alright," Bill whispered. "It's alright. They're just pictures. You've got all of those memories right where you need them to be. It's going to be okay."

Hermione pivoted on her heel and faced Bill, her glassy eyes holding his gaze for a few seconds. And then she lurched forward, and her arms wrapped around him, and she pressed her face into his t-shirt as she cried some more. Bill didn't move. He didn't speak. The room was silent but for Hermione's quiet sobs. With her face pressed to close to Bill, she could literally feel his heartbeat, and eventually, the steady rhythm helped her to calm herself down. When she pulled away, Bill was watching her with concern etched into his forehead.

"Feel any better?" He asked after a moment. One of his fingers brushed over Hermione's cheek, and Bill flicked a tear away. "Any better at all?"

Hermione paused long enough to give the question some real thought. She had cried plenty since she'd received the news about Harry and Ron. She'd had many sleepless nights filled with tears and chocolate and anger and sadness. But this? This was a different sort of cry. Hermione felt the tiredness all the way into her bones, and in that moment, all she wanted to do was sleep. But she knew one other thing: She really did feel a little bit better.

She nodded and blushed, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed for her display. "Sorry…" She whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Bill chuckled. "You want to know a secret? I did the same thing when Fleur left with the kids. Well, dad called it a meltdown. Mom just made lots of food and tried to coddle me a bit. I felt completely useless for months."

"I find that hard to believe." Hermione frowned. "You don't have to make up stories to make me feel better. I really am okay. I promise. This helped. A lot more than I thought it would, actually."

"I'm not making up stories," Bill assured her. "Fleur didn't die, but when she left, when she took the kids, it really felt like she had. Like my entire life up to that point had been some sort of sick joke, and I was the only one not in on it. I suppose it pales in comparison to what happened with Ron and Harry, but I just wanted you to understand. I've been there. Sort of…"

Hermione took a deep breath and held his gaze. "How did you get through it?" She asked, her voice so soft she wasn't even sure he'd be able to hear.

"I completely fell apart," Bill admitted. "I fell apart, and then I started picking up the pieces..."

"I don't want to fall apart." Hermione sighed. She liked order. She enjoyed organization, control. She prided herself on being capable, and prepared for anything. It helped her feel like the world made a little bit of sense, even when it was turned completely on its head.

Bill sighed. "I didn't want to, either." He agreed. "But if you keep carrying all that stuff around, eventually, it's going to weigh you down enough and you're really going to start to crack. Don't carry something that you don't have to carry. You've got enough on your shoulders as it is."

"I don't even know what you're talking about." Hermione snapped.

"The guilt, Hermione. Stop carrying it around. Stop letting other people tell you that it's your job to carry it. It's got to be heavy…"

**Author's Note: **Again, sorry about the wait, guys. I had to leave this particular chapter right here, but I hope you all enjoyed it. I'll be posting another one soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who is still reading this despite the long wait for the update. I've got the rest of this thing almost completely cranked out, so it will be released over the next few days with any luck. There's something from one of the earlier chapters that's kind of been left hanging. Someone caught it in a review! All will be revealed soon enough.

Thank you for the wonderful reviews, follows, and favorites!

**Defying Gravity  
**_Chapter Four: The Truth in the Last 'I Love You'_

September first and the start of the fall term at Hogwarts came more quickly than Hermione would have liked, but the arrival of the students meant a distraction from everything else, and Hermione welcomed that openly. It felt strange sitting at the staff table while Bill gave the first years a talking to and the other students finally began to file in. Hermione didn't even realize she'd been holding her breath until Bill revealed the old Sorting Hat, and it burst into song:

'_You might belong in Gryffindor  
where dwell the brave at heart.  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
set Gryffindors apart!  
You might belong in Hufflepuff  
where they are just and loyal…'_

"You just place the Sorting Hat on top of your head like so…" Bill was saying. He lifted the old conical hat and placed it atop his head. A moment later, it sputtered and coughed, and then its voice rang out over the hall. "_Aren't you a bit old for the Sorting Ceremony, Weasley? Put me down and let the young ones have a go!_"

There was a collective gasp from the new students, and Hermione couldn't help but smile at their reaction. She leaned forward in her chair as the Sorting Ceremony began, training her ears to the soft rumblings of the Sorting Hat as it decided where each new student would go. Sitting beside her at the table, Minerva McGonnagal was smiling with her eyes. Hermione even thought for a moment that she might have seen the corners of the other woman's lips curling upwards, but it was fleeting if it had happened at all.

After the Hat had placed the last student, a Floria Welsch, into Hufflepuff, the Great Hall erupted in chatter and thunderous applause. Hermione watched the students interact as she picked at her own meal. When the wooden legs of the seat beside her squealed against the stone floor, she startled and looked up into a familiar freckled face.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that, you know." She commented, flashing a quick smile in Bill's direction.

He chuckled. "I was hardly sneaking at all." There was a short pause, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Okay. Maybe I was sneaking a _tiny_ bit, but you looked like you were having fun with that little mashed potato mountain you've got going on there. I was trying not to disturb you is all."

"Shove off, Bill."

Bill clapped a hand on Hermione's shoulder and chuckled again. She felt the pressure on her shoulder and looked up, holding his gaze for perhaps a moment longer than she should have. He cleared his throat. "Are you feeling any better?" He asked, his voice so soft that no one around them seemed to realize he was even speaking with her.

She sighed. "A little bit. Thanks for… Thanks for everything the other day."

"Don't mention it."

Bill sat. Hermione heard the familiar scrape of fork against plate, and the staff table fell silent but for a few short bursts of quiet conversation over the meal. Hermione picked at the potatoes on her plate and enjoyed a few tender bites of turkey, her gaze occasionally flickering upwards towards where the students were eating and carrying on. When McGonnagal cleared her throat a few minutes later, the entire hall fell into silence, and Hermione nearly chuckled.

"Before the Prefects escort you to your houses, there are just a few announcements I'd like to make," McGonnagal announced as she stood. "First years, the woods are off-limits to students. Any student caught in the forest without an escort will face penalty. The same can be said of any student caught wandering the halls after curfew."

There was a short pause. "Some of you may notice that we have several new faculty members this year," McGonnagal continued on. "Please welcome Professor Bill Weasley, who will be taking over the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hermione Granger, Gryffindors, is your new Head-of-House, and has graciously agreed to take on the Transfiguration classes. And Luna Lovegood, sitting at the end, will be watching over Ravenclaw house, and has taken up the post of Divination…"

"You expect _them_ to teach us something? They're barely older than we are!"

Hermione searched for the source of the voice, and her gaze settled on a sneering face sitting at the Hufflepuff table. She certainly hadn't been expecting that.

"As Professors at this school, not only will they teach, but they will be shown the respect due to their status here. Trust me, each and every person sitting with me at this table deserves to be here, and I have the upmost respect for all of them. I expect no less from the rest of you. Feel free to act as you wish, but keep in mind that you'll be serving detention with _me_ should word get to me about any unfortunate behaviors…"

Silence fell over the room again.

McGonnagal smiled. "Well then," she cleared her throat. "Now that we've managed to get that out of the way, I have no further announcements. Welcome, first years, to Hogwarts. Prefects, if you could please escort your housemates back to your houses…"

Hermione waited until the students had filed out of the Great Hall before she stood. She flashed a quick smile to the others at the table and let out a quiet sigh. "Monday is going to come too soon, isn't it?" She joked. "I should probably head to the common room…"

"I'll walk you." It was Bill's voice again. McGonnagal smiled and nodded. "Besides, my classroom is on the way. I need to stop and pick up a few things before I head to my quarters, anyway."

Hermione fell into step with Bill as they exited the Great Hall. A thick silence hung between them as they headed for the first staircase. Bill was the one to break that silence.

"Are you really feeling better?" He asked, turning to meet her gaze. Hermione could see it. The concern written all over his face was easier to read than most books she had picked up in the last year. "If you're not, you know that's okay, right? But it's just us now. You don't have to put on a brave face if you don't want to."

"I'm fine," Hermione said a little too quickly. "Or I'll be fine, anyway. I think having the students and classes to focus on will be a big help, actually." She shuffled her feet as the staircase lurched, and stumbled, nearly knocking Bill over in the process.

He chuckled. "Forget about the staircases, did you?" He asked, catching her by the waist.

She laughed and pulled away. "Thanks."

Bill drummed his fingertips against the railing as he waited for the staircase to stop at the next floor. Instead, it swung around and sent them back down again, and he burst into laughter. "Back down," he chuckled, holding out an arm for Hermione. "What do you say we go raid the kitchens real quick? The house elves always loved you. Ron told me all about that-What did you call it? SPEW? I bet you could convince them to surrender some cocoa and cookies."

"Are you _twelve_?" Hermione joked.

The clock tower rang out, and Hermione jumped. She counted the rings. It was nine o' clock. There would be no visits to Hagrid's hut this evening. She'd have to remember to make it up to him later. Perhaps she could use her friendship with the house elves to her advantage then, too.

"I've been worried about you." Bill revealed, and Hermione noticed that he was looking at her again.

She cleared her throat. "I'm alright. Really I am. It feels… _nice_ being back here, and I'm glad I have some friends here. It really does help me keep my mind off of things. And… Well, you've been a great help, too. I still worry that McGonnagal made the wrong choice, putting me as Head of House. I mean, I'm honored, but I think you might've been a better choice."

"Nonsense," Bill interrupted. "I was the good kid, remember? With as much trouble as you got into while you were here, those kids won't be able to pull anything over on you. Plus, I bet they've heard stories…"

"Shut up, Bill."

"I'm just saying…"

"Shut up, Bill."

The kitchens were bustling with activity when Hermione and Bill entered, but Hermione couldn't help but notice the way that some of the elves stopped and stared. She recognized a few from the battle. Dobby had led them in to assist the students and faculty.

"Did you need something, Miss Granger?" Hermione didn't recognize this particular elf, but she offered him a smile nonetheless. "We were just cleaning up and getting ready for breakfast, but if you need something…"

Hermione pressed her index finger to her lips. "No need to worry over me. I've just come to see about maybe getting some cocoa? We'll be out of the way soon enough, I promise. Whatever you're making, it already smells delicious!"

"Told you." Bill whispered, still standing right beside her. He cleared his throat and smiled to the elves as they brought out a mug for each of them. "Thank you," he nodded to each one, raising his mug to them as if in a toast. "We're sorry to have bothered you."

By the time that Hermione and Bill were making their way back to the staircases, the chattering had died down and the elves had resumed their duties. Hermione held her mug carefully in both hands as she stepped up onto the stairs and turned to face Bill.

"I really am alright, you know? You don't have to worry about me so much. It will give you grey hairs. What will you do then? I don't think you'd look good with grey hair. It would chase all the women away, certainly."

"What women?" Bill chuckled. The staircase groaned as it swung to the next floor, and he stepped forward and paused, looking back and waiting for Hermione to join him. "Besides, I know you can take care of yourself. It's not that. I just… Well, I also know that all of this can't possibly be easy on you. I know it's not for me. And I just want you to know that you've got friends. And family."

"I know, I _know_," Hermione insisted. "It's just been really hard with everything else."

Bill stopped walking. It took Hermione a moment to realize that she had passed him by. She turned, and he was standing there, in the middle of the hallway, with a whipped-cream mustache and yet another look of concern on his face.

"Everything else?" Of course. She knew that he would ask, but despite that, she still wasn't really prepared with a proper answer. It was still hard to talk about what had happened to Ron and Harry. The article in the _Quibbler_ had made her feel somewhat better, and Luna did seem to have more of the facts, but there was one very important fact that she'd left out of her story—perhaps because Hermione had never gotten the chance to reveal it herself.

"It's nothing," she said, perhaps a bit too quickly. She took a long drink of her hot cocoa, more in an effort to try and hide her expression.

Bill shook his head. "Has anyone ever told you what a horrible liar you are?"

Instead of replying, Hermione veered off to the right, and straight into the Transfiguration classroom. She sat down at one of the desks just as she had done only a few years before, and let out a heavy sigh as she placed her mug atop the old wooden desktop. "It's not nothing," she admitted after a moment. She didn't need to look up to know that Bill had followed her into the room. "It's everything, Bill. _Everything_."

"What do you mean, Hermione?"

Hermione wasn't sure what it was about the question, but she burst into tears. It had been innocent enough, of course, asked out of concern. How could Bill possibly know what was wrong? He couldn't. He couldn't because no one did, and it had been eating Hermione alive for weeks now. They'd all find out soon enough. She wouldn't be able to hide it forever.

"Oh, Hermione! I'm sorry! Damn, I didn't mean…"

"I'm _pregnant_, Bill. I'm pregnant and I never even got to tell him and now they're both gone and I'm not really sure what to do with myself. How is that fair? I told them it was stupid. I told them we'd done enough fighting while we were _kids_ to last us our entire lives, but they wanted to keep hunting down the bad guys. I supported them and I understand why they felt the need to do it, but every bloody time they had to leave, I felt like I was on pins and needles, and this last time, I just _knew_ something wasn't right. I just _knew_. I should have said something before they left. I should have said something and then maybe they would have stayed behind…"

Hermione wiped furiously at her cheeks with the back of her hand as her shoulders shook. She hadn't really intended to blurt it all out like that, but now it was out, and there was nothing that she could do to take it back. She buried her face in her mug of hot cocoa as the silence hung in the air after her admission.

"Jesus, Hermione…" Bill cursed.

"Bill, please don't. Please? I know it sounds selfish, but I just keep thinking if I had been a little selfish, just a little bit, just that once, my husband and my best friend would still be here today, and I wouldn't be the _Prophet's_ dragon lady, and everything would be normal…"

"Hermione…" Bill started again. Hermione felt his hand on her shoulder and started to shrug him away, but couldn't manage to find the energy. Instead, she slumped against the back of the chair behind her and buried her head in her hands. Behind her, Bill cleared his throat. "You aren't selfish, Hermione. Jesus. Wanting things to be normal doesn't make you selfish. You're one of the least selfish people I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you. I just… I really was just worried. It's going to be okay. Really, it is."

Hermione shook her head, but couldn't find the words to argue her point.

"No wonder you've been wound so tight. Have you been to see a doctor? How far along are you? You don't look like you've put on any wei—'' He stopped himself before he finished the last question. "Sorry."

She shrugged.

"Hermione?" Bill whispered. She looked up and met his gaze, offering him a small nod. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft that Hermione almost had to strain to hear it, despite his closeness. "Does… Does mom know about this?"

**Author's Note: **To the reviewer that caught on that the news from Hermione's message had not yet been revealed, good catch! Thank you to everyone who has favorite and reviewed so far. Y'all are awesome and it makes writing these things even more fun!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Sorry about this, guys. I thought I'd posted this ages and ages ago. I am sooooo sorry.

**Defying Gravity  
**_Chapter Five: Secrets Revealed_

Hermione took a deep breath once the well of tears had dried up and looked to Bill once more, her eyes wide. She shook her head in reply to his question and found herself looking at the ground when she finally spoke. "No one knows," she whispered. "Just you, me, and the classroom walls."

Bill squeezed her shoulder again. "It's going to be okay, Hermione. You've got friends. You've got a great support system. You've got people who love you… Lots of people. But if… If you don't want anyone to know right now, that's okay. They'll figure it out eventually, right?" He chuckled.

"Of course they will. And then I'll be a harlot and the person who killed Ron and Harry." She mumbled.

"Hey," Bill snapped, and Hermione found her gaze locked on his again. "I thought you weren't letting that bull that the _Prophet_ has been printing get to you?" There was a certain sternness to his voice that Hermione hadn't heard before. "Don't worry about what the damn _Prophet_ says. No one with a good head on their shoulders believes that trash, anyway. We all know they're so desperate for a good story. They can't even bother themselves with facts, so it's not something to worry yourself over, especially in your condition."

"In my condition?" Hermione countered. "Really, Bill?"

He shrugged. "You know what I mean, Hermione. Sorry. I'm not trying to sound like I…" He took a deep breath. "I'm just saying, your secret is safe with me for as long as you want it to be a secret. I'll even take the death glares and howlers from mom. I'm a good friend like that."

"You are," Hermione nodded. "You have been a really good friend, Bill. Thank you." There was a long silence, and Hermione let out a sigh. "I'll owl Molly. Maybe she can come visit before Monday comes and we all get swamped with classes…" She pushed herself up from the chair and started for the door. A moment later, she was walking in step with Bill toward the next staircase.

"Are you feeling better now?" Bill smiled. "I imagine that was a lot of weight to carry…"

"One more comment about my weight, Bill Weasley, and it won't be your mother that you should have to worry about." Hermione joked, punching him lightly in the arm. She fell silent a moment and then took another deep breath. "Do you think you could be there? When I talk to her, I mean?"

"You think she'll be angry with you?"

"Of course not," Hermione shook her head. "I mean, maybe a little? For hiding it, maybe. I don't know. I just don't want to have this conversation alone. You don't have to if you don't want to. It's okay. I just figured I'd ask and see if—''

"Alright. I'll come with you." Bill laughed, interrupting her. "It's okay. Everything is going to be fine."

Hermione rested her hand on her hip and glared at him. "How many more times are you going to say that?" She asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and offered her a winning smile. "I see no reason to stop saying it until you start believing it. Now come on, Miss Granger. We're out past curfew. We could get in trouble, you know."

"You really _are_ twelve, aren't you?" Hermione giggled. "You're a big kid in a man's body. We work here now, Bill. We can be out after curfew. In fact, we can't catch students breaking curfew if we aren't."

"Yes," Bill nodded. "Well, it just seemed like more fun that way."

They didn't stop by Bill's classroom, and as they climbed the staircases together, Hermione couldn't help but feel a little tinge of guilt gnawing at her. The Gryffindor common room wasn't a short walk from his classroom or his quarters, and yet Bill continued on with Hermione until she reached the portrait entrance, joking and carrying on as though he had nowhere else to be. Another part of her wanted to smile, though. He really had been a good friend.

"Hermione?" Bill's voice pulled her out of her own thoughts. "We're here, and this lovely lady has asked you for the password three times now."

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled. She turned to Bill and smiled. "Thank you for walking me up here. I'll send Molly an owl before I turn in tonight…"

"It was nothing," Bill insisted. "Just get some sleep. You know how my mother can be, anyway, and she'll probably be so excited to hear from you. Good night, Hermione." Bill whispered, and Hermione watched as he descended the stairs before turning back to the portrait and finally revealing the password. The door swung open, and Hermione glanced back one last time before stepping inside and pulling it shut behind her.

The next day came all too soon, as it tended to do every time Hermione had trouble sleeping at night. She groaned as she swung her feet over the edge of her bed and stretched her arms up over her head. Sunlight was peeking through the window, and Hermione basked in its warmth a moment longer before she finally stood and readied herself for the day.

Molly's reply to her owl came as she was absentmindedly nibbling on her breakfast in the Great Hall. In fact, the owl dropped it right into her cereal. She hurried to scoop it out and unfold the parchment. Molly's handwriting was so familiar. Hermione scanned the note three times before sliding it across the table to Bill as nonchalantly as possible.

"Your mother is coming to visit," she said with a small smile. The news was good, of course, but Hermione couldn't help but be a little nervous under the circumstances. She had kept this hidden for a reason, even if it seemed silly now. She knew that neither Arthur nor Molly would really be mad, but the upcoming meeting was still a source of great anxiety to her.

"I'll walk you to Hogsmeade after breakfast," Bill nodded, and Hermione found herself smiling again. "Mom will throw a fit if I don't say hi, anyway."

"Molly is comin' to Hogsmeade?" Hagrid's voice carried easily over Bill and Hermione both. "You tell 'er I said hi? I wonder what she's comin' all this way for?"

"Shopping trip," Hermione answered. "And to harass Bill, of course."

That wasn't the truth, but in that moment, the lie rolled off of her tongue easier than perhaps any words she'd ever spoken. Hermione took a deep breath and did her best to calm her racing heart. She picked at her breakfast. It was a momentary distraction, but just enough that Hermione felt herself relax a little bit. She'd told Bill that she was going to tell Molly, and soon, very soon, she'd get that opportunity. And that terrified her more than she liked to admit.

"If you're not hungry we can always get something with mom in Hogsmeade?" Bill suggested.

Hermione let out a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding. "That might be nice," she agreed after a moment. Hermione's gaze moved down to her plate, and she pushed the food around with her fork a moment longer before pushing it away. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought that she saw Bill give her a strange look, but she brushed it off. Instead, she stood, offered him a small smile, and held out her arm. "You want to go ahead and go?"

Of course, Hermione was in no real hurry. Perhaps it was the butterflies in her stomach that amplified the anxiety, or the various thoughts running through her mind faster than she could begin to process them, but the need to move was too great to ignore, and as she waited for Bill with an outstretched hand, she also found that her foot was tapping impatiently against the stone floor. Bill cleared his throat and smiled back at her, his chair screeching against the floor beneath it as he stood.

"Alright," he nodded. He looped his arm with hers, and Hermione took a deep breath as he led her from the Great Hall, out into the courtyard, and down the dirt path that led to the small village of Hogsmeade.

"Thanks, Bill," she whispered again as they passed Honeydukes.

Bill shrugged his shoulders. "I got the feeling you were getting a little—''

Hermione coughed. "Just a little," she said before he could finish his sentence.

Their early departure meant an early arrival, and Hermione and Bill sat side-by-side in two chairs facing the door as they waited for Molly Weasley to enter it. With her fiery red hair and brightly colored shawl, she was hard to miss despite her short stature, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat when she finally laid eyes on the familiar woman.

"Maybe this was a bad idea?" She breathed out.

Bill laced his fingers with hers, and Hermione felt the reassuring squeeze of his hand under the table as Molly smiled at them and took a seat at the table across from Bill.

"It's good to see you, Hermione," she said. Her jovial tone betrayed any image Hermione had in her mind about their little meeting. Her eyes were bright, her expression genuine. It should have helped her to relax, but instead, Hermione felt the butterflies in her stomach fluttering about with renewed vigor. The urge to stand and run was trumped only by the fact that her legs felt like gelatin dangling loosely from her torso.

"You too, Molly." She managed. "Bill and I got here a little bit early. I guess we were just excited to see you."

"I haven't seen you in so long. Since…" Molly stopped, and Hermione thought for a brief moment that she saw a flash of something familiar in the older woman's eyes. Sadness?

"I know," Hermione choked out. "I'm sorry. I've just been so busy, and I didn't want to bother you with everything."

Hermione felt another squeeze from Bill's hand, and she squeezed it back almost automatically.

Molly shook her head. "You know you'll never be a bother to us, don't you, Hermione?" Molly continued on. "You're family. You'll always be family. We miss you. We've been worried about you since… Since what happened." Molly said, her voice dropping so low that Hermione almost had to strain to hear it. "I'm glad we're here now, though. Are you two hungry? My treat, okay?"

"We might have skipped out on breakfast at the castle," Bill revealed, and Hermione caught him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She nodded in agreement.

"Well then," Molly nodded. "Get yourselves something to eat. Go on, now."

"I'm not really hungry," Hermioe started. "I'll probably just have a pumpkin juice, actually."

"You need to eat something, 'Mione." It was Bill's voice. For a moment, Hermione considered kicking hi beneath the table, but her legs still felt like useless lumps, and instead she simply turned her head and glared at him.

"Nonsense," Molly waved her hand. "We've got a lot of catching up to do. Don't you worry about a thing, okay? Just order whatever you want. Arthur's been doing so well at the Ministry. It's really not a problem at all. Go on."

If Hermione knew one thing about Molly Weasley, it was that she could be as stubborn as a brick wall and rarely took no for an answer. Hermione glanced towards Bill again before letting out a soft sigh and relenting with a small nod. "Alright," she said. "But I don't really know what's good here, anyway. Surprise me?"

Hermione felt Bill tense slightly, and she chewed her bottom lip.

"Molly," she squeaked out. "I didn't just owl you because I wanted to have lunch. There's something… There's something really important that I need to talk to you about."

Across the table, Molly's expression faltered. Her smile fell away and a look of intrigued confusion rested in its place. She folded her hands in front of her on the table and leaned forward. "Oh?" She finally said. "What is it? And don't think you're getting out of having lunch, either. We're all going to hve a nice meal. I won't forget."

Hermione looked to Bill as though trying to gather strength from his mere presence. It helped a little, although she imagined it helped in the same way that a shot of fire-whiskey might have, had she been able to drink the stuff. It was momentary courage. It was fleeting, but it offered her a small window with which to make her confession and wait for what she was sure would be the inevitable fallout afterwards.

"I owled you because I wanted to tell you something, Molly," Hermione began, and she felt a wave of nausea hit her like a punch to the stomach as she held Molly's gaze. "There was something… There was something important. Something that I meant to tell Ron before he…" She paused, blinking furiously against the stinging in her eyes.

Molly reached across the table, and when Hermoine opened her eyes again, she was somewhat surprised to see the other woman's hand covering her own. There was a strange sort of concern and a deep understanding staring back at her from Molly's eyes, and Hermione took a deep breath as she held that gaze.

"Just before it happened," she continued. "Just before it happened, I found out that I was pregnant. I waited. I meant to tell Ron that morning, but he was so distracted with work, and then I thought I'd just tell Ron and Harry that evening. They were like brothers. I thought it would be nice to surprise them. But then they got that assignment, and I… I didn't tell him. And I should have. I should have told him not to go, and I should have told him why, but I didn't. And I keep thinking… I keep thinking that if I had told him before they decided to leave, that maybe they would have stayed, and maybe they'd still be here today, and I'm _sorry_—''

Hermione was too busy crying and far too busy rambling to notice the expressions that played across Molly Weasley's face. First, there was shock. Bewilderment. Pain. And then something else entirely. Bill, sitting across the table from his mother, recognized the signs all too clearly, but then he was perhaps the only one sitting at the table who wasn't emotionally compromised by the news.

"Mom…" he started.

"Stop it," Molly snapped.

Hermione blinked, feeling for a moment as though she had been slapped in the face, and looked to Molly once more, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Sorry," she repeated, her voice nothing more than a whisper. "I meant to tell you ages ago, but I couldn't bring myself to visit or…"

"I don't ever want to hear you say anything like that again." Molly finished, and Hermione was almost certain in that moment that the nausea would completely overtake her entire being and she'd vomit right then and there.

"Mom!" Bill nearly yelled.

"I… I understand," Hermione choked. "I shouldn't have lied to you."

Molly's gaze danced back and forth between the two of them, and her jaw dropped as she shook her head. "What on Earth do you two think I'm talking about? What happened to Ron, what happened to Harry… It wasn't your fault, Hermione. Understand? It wasn't." Her voice cracked, and Hermione felt her heart break a little bit. "It wasn't your fault," Molly repeated. "And you can't very well raise my grandbaby if you die from undeserved guilt, now can you? So you stop that right now. I don't ever want to hear you say such awful things again, because they aren't true, not even in the slightest." There was a pause, and a moment later, Hermione noticed the droplets of water pooling in the corners of Molly's eyes, and her mother-in-law cracked a smile that soon overtook her entire face.

Hermione heard Bill let out a breath, and she found herself wondering just how long he'd been holding it.

"You're sure you're not mad?" She asked.

Molly shook her head. "No," she said. "Although I might be if you don't get yourself something to eat. You're eating for two now." Molly gestured for a server and then looked back at Hermione once more. "I'm glad you've got a friend at the school, Hermione," she gestured to her son. "But you better remember you're still family. You always will be. And we'll be here for you, no matter what."

**Author's Note: **To the reviewer that caught on that the news from Hermione's message had not yet been revealed, good catch! Thank you to everyone who has favorite and reviewed so far. Y'all are awesome and it makes writing these things even more fun!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **And here's the next chapter! Also, here's a thought—to those of you who have been following me for a while, how would you feel if I did a re-write of some of my older pieces? I'm also working on some original manuscripts, which I hope to get published later this year.

**Defying Gravity  
**_Chapter Six: Nothing to be Afraid Of  
_  
"Do I get to say 'I told you so' now?"

"I wouldn't if I were you," Hermione chuckled. "But I do feel better."

"I knew Mom wouldn't be angry," Bill continued on as though he hadn't even heard Hermione's retort at all. He looped his arm with hers as they walked back towards the castle. "She was madder at me for not writing more. See? Everything is going to be just fine."

Hermione found herself leaning against him as they walked. She let out a soft sigh. "I really wish that people would stop saying things like that," she whispered. "But thank you. For everything. Again. I don't think I could have done that on my own."

"You want to know what I think, Hermione?" Bill stopped walking, and Hermione paused to look up at him. She opened her mouth, but Bill didn't give her enough time to respond. "I think you're a lot stronger than you think you are. Something horrible happened, Hermione. But you know, as bad as it seems now, as bad as it is, things won't be bad forever. Things will get better."

"At least Molly knows now," Hermione nodded, her voice barely loud enough to constitute a whisper. "I just wish… I wish this whole thing wasn't such a mess. I'm just tired, Bill. I'm so tired already."

Bill gave her hand a squeeze and flashed a small smile. "Well, then you should take a nap."

"That's not what I meant at all," Hermione retorted with a roll of her eyes. She took a deep breath as they approached the large double doors that opened up into the castle. "I am going to go, though. Not go. Just… I need some time to think about things." She shrugged. "Thanks again for braving your Mom with me. She can be a little scary…"

Bill paused, and then Hermione felt his lips against the skin of her cheek, and pinkness flooded her face.

She cleared her throat and turned to offer him a small smile. "I'll see you at dinner, okay?" She whispered, and then she started up the stairs. Bill remained in view at the bottom of the stairs until the staircase swung to the side. Hermione gripped the railing to steady herself, and when she looked back, he was gone.

Back in the common room, Hermione found solace in the silence in her quarters and finally allowed herself the one thing that she had been denying herself for most of the morning. She pressed her face into the pillow and cried until her eyes could shed no more tears and her cheeks felt raw, and only then was she able to sleep.

It was the sunlight peeking through the window sometime later that roused her from her slumber. Hermione startled, sitting up so quickly that she gave herself a headache. She groaned, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and stumbled out of her room. Outside the portrait hole, the halls of the castle were bustling with activity. Hermione started for the stairs and continued the downward decent until she reached the first floor.

"Sleep well?"

It wasn't the voice that Hermione had been expecting, but she turned and grinned when she saw Luna. "I did. I just needed a little nap is all. I've been a bit under the weather lately."

Luna shrugged. "Bill mentioned that. Are you looking for him?" Luna gestured forward, and Hermione realized that she was standing in front of Bill's classroom. She blushed, and Luna continued on. "He went with Hagrid into the forest," she said. "He'll be back in a little bit. The centaurs are a bit restless, it seems. I blame the nargles, but…" She shrugged again. "They left about an hour ago? Said they'd be back before dinner." She nodded.

"Oh," Hermione said. She hated being caught off guard, and it was all she could think to say. "I wonder what has the centaurs upset?" It was a nice enough recovery she thought, but she had also noticed that despite Luna's airy personality, she didn't tend to miss much.

"No idea." Luna shrugged again. "But they'll be back soon, so you can ask them."

"I'll stop by the kitchens and see about taking some tea down to Hagrid's. You want to come along?" Hermione asked.

Luna shook her head. "I have to go into the village for a little bit," she said. "But tell Hagrid I'll stop by later. I've got something I think he'd love to have a look at." Luna winked and continued down the hall, past Hermione, and toward the stairs. Hermione watched her for a moment and chuckled before heading towards the kitchens.

She couldn't help but hope that 'something' that Luna planned on showing Hagrid wasn't a dragon or some other manner of beast.

The air felt wonderful on Hermione's face as she walked out towards the little hut at the edge of the forest with a tray of tea balanced on her arm. She was nearly to the front door when she realized that Bill and Hagrid were already back, sitting at the Hagrid-sized table inside his hut.

"It's nothin' to be worrin' yerself about right now," Hagrid was saying. "They'll be tellin' us if somethin' else happens. I can keep watch. Nothin'll get past me."

"Something already _did_ happen. Minerva will need to hear about this." Bill replied. There was a tightness to his voice that Hermione hadn't heard in quite a while, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "They could have gotten to the castle had the centaurs not stopped them."

"There's no way they'd get in the castle," Hagrid said, shaking his head.

"Hagrid, they got out of Azkaban. Getting into the castle is child's play in comparison. Bloody hell, Draco Malfoy was able to figure out a loop hole, and he was just a kid at the time."

"McGonnagal'll never let that happen again."

"Hagrid, they were _here_. They were in the forest, for Merlin's sake! We know exactly why they were here. They already got Ron and Harry, and I'll be _damned_ if… We have to tell McGonnagal. Now. And we have to get Hermione out of here."

"'Mione is safest at the castle, and you know that."

The hut fell into silence, and outside, glass shattered on the stone pathway as the tray dropped from Hermione's hand. She wanted to move, to charge into that hut and demand answers to questions she didn't need to ask, but she couldn't. Instead, her legs wobbled beneath her weight, and a moment later, the blackness encroaching on her vision overtook her completely, and she collapsed.

**Author's Note: **I know how horribly short that this chapter is, but I absolutely had to cut it off here. I am SO sorry. More will be revealed in the next chapter!


End file.
